


So Quick, Bright Things Come to Confusion

by shackalacklargebottom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, References to Shakespeare, college theatre!au, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shackalacklargebottom/pseuds/shackalacklargebottom
Summary: “Isn’t it a bit early for you two?” Remus asks, noting Sirius’ sunglasses and James hair, somehow even untidier than usual. “It’s only ten. You’re not still drunk, are you?”“Not even a little bit, which is a shame,” says Sirius, “since we’re so heroically hungover. But, we’re out of beer, so no hair of the dog, unfortunately.”“There’s a fine line between being a college student and being an alcoholic, Padfoot,” Remus informs him, “and I think morning-drinking on a Tuesday might be crossing that line.” Sirius gasps and clutches his heart where Remus has stabbed him through with such cruelty.





	1. Chapter 1

Remus wonders, for the thousandth time this morning and the millionth time in his college career, what insanity could possibly have possessed him tosign up for an 8AM. He trudges across the quad, stone-faced, passing the cheerier and less-insane members of the student body who signed up for classes at a more reasonable time in the morning. Remus clutches his empty travel mug sadly, tipping it over his mouth in the vain hope that there may be a last drop of coffee hiding from him.

           “Nice face, Moony.”

           Remus rolls his eyes back into his head and flicks his tongue suggestively in an out of the opening in the mug’s lid, prompting a spurt of chuckles from one voice and a disappointed groan from the other. Remus turns, grinning, and scans the green for James and Sirius. He spots them on the low concrete wall separating the Student Center from the rest of the quad, and veers off. Joining them on the cold stone, Remus plops his  _Classroom Management_  book heedlessly on the grass next to James’ Frisbee and Sirius’ guitar case.

           “Isn’t it a bit early for you two?” Remus asks, noting Sirius’ sunglasses and James hair, somehow even untidier than usual. “It’s only ten. You’re not still drunk, are you?”

           “Not even a little bit, which is a shame,” says Sirius, “since we’re so heroically hung over. But, we’re out of beer, so no hair of the dog, unfortunately.”

           “There’s a fine line between being a college student and being an alcoholic, Padfoot,” Remus informs him, “and I think morning-drinking on a Tuesday might be crossing that line.” Sirius gasps and clutches his heart where Remus has stabbed him through with such cruelty.

           “I write better drunk,” James says, monotone. “I had a paper due.”

           “What’s Sirius’ excuse?” asks Remus.

           “Well, solidarity, innit?” Sirius says expansively, spreading his hands. “Can’t have my mate drinking alone. That’s just sad.”

           “Or, you couldn’t stand the fact that he was finishing the last of the beer by himself,” Remus decides. Sirius merely grins. James sinks lower into his sweatshirt and pulls up the hood, tugging the drawstring tight until only his nose is showing. 

           “You were home late last night,” Sirius probes, ignoring James’ pitiful moans. He peers over the edge of his sunglasses inquisitorially. “Did our Moony finally find some  _conquest_? A little romantic liaison in the library, perhaps?“ and Sirius bats his eyelashes.

           “I was helping Pete with his psych study,” Remus deflects. “He still needs volunteers. Apparently, you can only get so much information from rats. You should sign up for a slot, he’s missing a lot of participants.”

           “What d’you think we’re up so early for? I’m at ten-thirty and Prongs’ at ten forty-five.” Sirius runs a hand through his dark hair, then slips the elastic band from around his wrist and ties it back into a low ponytail.

           “What’re you doing here, then? The lab’s in the basement of Derwent Hall.”

           Sirius only elbows James sharply at this, jerking his chin at something behind Remus. Remus turns as James hastily undoes his cocoon. Lily Evans approaches from across the green, red hair fiery and gleaming in the morning sun, speaking emphatically with a tiny, wizened man in an argyle sweater-vest that Remus assumes is a professor. James ruffles his hair and does his best to look as un-besotted as possible

           “Hey, Evans!” James calls, as she comes nearer. His voice cracks. Lily looks up and spots them on the wall. Remus could wince, both for James’ voice and the blatant scowl that darkens Lily’s face. The professor by her side continues to chatter happily until she pauses in front of the trio.

           “-and it could all conceivably be whittled down to about thirteen or fourteen people, I think,” says the shriveled professor, and Lily only interrupts to say, sweetly, “Hello, Remus.”

           Remus can feel the daggers emanating from James, and, even more bizarrely, he can feel Sirius shift closer as a barrier on the off-chance that James actually does decide to throttle him.

           “Oh, erm, hi, Lily,” says Remus. “How’s the reading for Slughorn going?”

           “It’s fine,” she says, “bit dry, you know, but-”

           “Hey, Evans,” James says again, although Remus swears he hears  _Remus, do kindly fuck off_ instead, “have you got plans for Friday? We’re all meeting at The Hog’s Head for-”

           “I’m busy,” she intercepts casually. “I’ve got an audition,” and the professor beside her beams.

           “That’s right,” squeaks the professor. “We’re planning a big one this semester. Shakespeare.  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. Actually, Miss Evans,” and here he pretends to whisper conspiratorially, “you should convince your friends here to audition with you. We need quite a few gentlemen for this one, and you know how hard it can be to find handsome leading men.” Lily looks like she can’t decide between swallowing a laugh or swallowing her own vomit.

           “Well, I’ve got a production meeting. Hope to see you there, boys! Friday in Dippet Theater at six o’clock. Miss Evans will help you remember, I’m sure.”  Off he totters, leaving Lily glowering. She composes herself.

           “Remus, you really should come. He’s right, we  _do_ need men. And you’re concentrating English Education, aren’t you?” she begins to wheedle. “What better way to study The Bard himself?”

           “What about us?” Sirius nudges, and Remus is vividly reminded of a boxing coach toweling the sweat and blood from his prized champion before sending him back out into the ring for one last round. James looks punch-drunk.

           Lily shrugs. “We always need ushers. Bye, Remus,” she says, and off she marches.

           “Bye, Evans,” James says, and it sounds like the end of a title-fight. He scrapes himself off the metaphorical mat, and then whirls on Remus. “Are you  _honestly_  going?” he snaps.

           Remus shakes his head. “The last time I was onstage, I was in elementary school. We all had to do some Christmas play about a bunch of lost penguins. Our costumes were made of black garbage bags. And I had such bad stage fright, I threw up twice in the wings. I’m not much cut out for the stage, I’ll sit this one out.”

           James turns to Sirius, whose grin has been growing wider and crazier by the minute. “What’re you thinking, Pads?”

           “Hang on, Prongs, I’m still envisioning little Moony in a trash bag and penguin flippers,” Sirius sighs, dreamily. Remus unceremoniously punches him in the arm. James frowns, lost in thought, as Sirius pretends to be mortally wounded.

           “D’you think Evans is going to get in?” says James. “I didn’t even know she did theatre.”

           “She was in  _The Importance of Being Earnest_  last semester. Minus ten Obsession Points, Prongs,” Remus says, but James muses over him, “Well, Padfoot?”

           “Reckon I might,” Sirius settles, rubbing the spot where Remus has dead-armed him. “Besides, my cousin Andie’s been bugging me to do one since last year. She stage manages. And anyway, wouldn’t it just  _infuriate_  Evans?”

           “That’s not exactly the emotion I’m going for,” James says, and Remus interrupts, “Hang on. Have either of you ever even acted before?”

           They both stare at him, deer in headlights. James says, “How hard can it be?” He takes off his glasses and cleans them on the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “And anyway, I’m sat out of lacrosse until spring, because of my knee. I need something to keep me occupied.”

           “I thought that something was going to be the consumption of stupid amounts of alcohol and the unrelenting conquest of Lily Evans,” Remus says.

           “This is all part of that second bit,” James says. He turns to Sirius. “What d’you think, mate? I’m game if you are.”

           “I’ll talk to Andromeda,” Sirius says. “Should I tell Cresswell we won’t be at The Hog’s Head, then?”

           “Oh, no, I was thinking we might pop by there first,” James says, smirking, and it is then that Remus decides to leave them to their schemes. He picks up his textbook and stuffs it into his bag, then slides off the wall and says, “Well, break legs, boys. I’m going home to nap.” James and Sirius both robotically answer, “Bye, Moony,” and Remus begins the journey across the quad.

           He stops at the library and checks out a copy of  _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_  on the way back to his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Feet are groups of syllables,” Remus begins again, staccato, but with patience. Living with James and Sirius is the best training he could possibly receive for being a teacher. “The type of syllable group is called an iamb.”
> 
> “I am. I am what? Is that an actor thing?” James asks. He’s slid down the cushion of the futon they “rescued” from the curb a few weeks ago, poking at a handheld game that’s making irritating blips every few seconds. Remus frowns and opens his mouth again to reply, but Sirius interrupts.
> 
> “Iambs, mate. I-am, b, s. It’s the pattern of… stress? On the syllables? Right, Moony?”
> 
> Remus’ open mouth gapes for a second. “That’s pretty impressive,” he concedes, and James mumbles, “You are BS, Pads.”

“What the hell does that mean, the line has five feet? Five feet of what?” James whines.

           Remus growls into his homework. The highlighter in his hand squiggles needlessly down the page from the sheer force of his exasperation. Sirius’ face is scrunched in concentration (or horror; Remus isn’t always sure which. The act of focusing quietly on one thing for too long seems to frighten Sirius, so it could conceivably be both.). He and James have borrowed Remus’ loaned copy of  _Midsummer_ and dog-eared the pages.

           “Feet are groups of syllables,” Remus begins again, staccato, but with patience. Living with James and Sirius is the best training he could possibly receive for being a teacher. “The type of syllable group is called an  _iamb_.”

           “I am. I am what? Is that an actor thing?” James asks. He’s slid down the cushion of the futon they “rescued” from the curb a few weeks ago, poking at a handheld game that’s making irritating  _blips_ every few seconds. Remus frowns and opens his mouth again to reply, but Sirius interrupts.

           “ _Iambs,_  mate. I-am, b, s. It’s the pattern of… stress? On the syllables? Right, Moony?”

           Remus’ open mouth gapes for a second. “That’s pretty impressive,” he concedes, and James mumbles, “You  _are_ BS, Pads.” Sirius grins as Remus deflates, just a bit. He’s not getting much studying done, and Sirius can probably tell he’s about ready to evacuate to the library.

           “Just because I didn’t pay attention in high school doesn’t mean I didn’t pick  _anything_  up,” Sirius says. “My mum would’ve had a fit if I failed a class.” He grins. “Gentleman, there has been a secret genius living among you this whole time.”

           “Right,” says Remus, rolling his eyes. Peter pops his head out the bathroom door from the hall, toweling off his dripping hair. He’s been howling the same song in the shower for twenty minutes.

           “It’s me!” he chirps, muffled beneath the towel. The collective in the living room groan as Peter emerges, freshly showered and clothed, sans jeans. He plods through the living room and into the kitchen, where the dryer resides, and proceeds to rummage through it.

           “Are you still looking for monologues?” he asks, echoing cosmically from the dryer.

           “James has his. I’m still looking,” Sirius says, returning to the yellowed pages. James punches one fist into the air and his game  _blips_  frantically.

           “Caught a Deerling, Pads,” he announces, and Peter says, “What about you, Moony?”

           James jabs his thumbs aggressively into his game. Remus sighs delicately.

           “I, uh, don’t know yet, Pete,” he says. “I’m pretty busy-”

           “Aww, you should go!” Pete says, surfacing triumphant with a pair of dry basketball shorts. “I used to do community theatre all the time as a kid, it was loads of fun. Reckon I might sign up for a slot on Friday, now my study’s done this week.”

           James submerges back into his game like a shark retreating from the ocean’s surface and Remus shifts uncomfortably.

           “…or rather, do I not, in plainest truth, tell you that I do not, nor I cannot love you?” Sirius murmurs, glancing at Remus. Remus glares back, and Sirius delves back into his reading with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Remus stares without seeing into his notes, half wishing he could take James by the hair and shake some sense into him.  _I do not, nor I cannot love her._   _Fuck’s sake._

           “That’s Demetrius, right?” Peter says, and Sirius nods. “Might do a Nick Bottom, then. He’s got bunches of good ones.”

           “I think Remus might like to do a Bottom,” Sirius says, deadpan, and Remus snaps his notebook shut for good. Sirius grins devilishly. James thumbs at his game without listening, and Peter wanders into the kitchen. Remus packs his belongings and goes, with a “Later, boys,” flung to the ether as he closes the door behind him.

           He spends the rest of the night alone in a silent group study room in the library, alternating between lesson plans and iambic pentameter.

           The week goes by and Friday comes, and Remus gets home from class too late in the afternoon, just in time to see the other three leaving their flat.  

           “Where are you lot off to?” he asks, for conversation’s sake. It’s the Hog’s Head. It’s always the Hog’s Head.

           “The Hog’s Head,” James grins, sloppily. “Work up some liquid courage for later on, eh?”

           “Well, good luck to you,” Remus says. “When are your slots?”

           “The three of us are all in a row at seven,” Peter says cheerfully. “Want to come out with us, Remus?”

           “Sorry, Pete. I’ve got stuff to do…” Remus says. “You’ll be excellent. Have one for me,” he says to Sirius, the last to walk out the door.

           “Might have more than one,” Sirius says, and he claps Remus’ hand by way of goodbye. Remus breathes for a moment, alone in the flat, and then hurries to his and Peter’s bedroom, changes his shirt, and leaves for the theater, taking the back entrance to campus.

           The lobby is already filling with the strangest people Remus has ever seen. Some are beached on the floor in groups of two or three, making loud, exaggerated sighs and stretching, most are frantically reciting their monologues to anyone who will listen. A girl with neon purple hair is rummaging to stow her pack of menthol cigarettes in a messenger bag, while two boys frantically spit  _King Lear_ into her face and do squats in between lines.

           “Remus!” and Remus almost cries for joy when Lily approaches him from the corner.

           “Hi!,” he begins. “What-” and he tries to continue  _What’s up?_ but ends up with “What the  _fuck_  is going on?”

           Lily smiles and rolls her eyes. “Theatre people,” she says, clawing huge quotes into the air with her fingers. “Everyone thinks they’ve got some magic trick for making a performance better. How are you?”

           “I’m fine,” he says, although he feels the slightest bit like he might be sick. “Listen, erm, is there? A magic trick, I mean?”

           “For making a performance better?” Lily says, and thinks on it. “Don’t suck,” she says finally, and claps him on the shoulder as the neon-haired girl wades into the middle of the throng and brandishes a clipboard.

           “Alright! Everyone! It’s just about six, so let’s start getting in order now. You each have a five minute slot. First up, Remus Lupin,” and she drags his name out slowly while she looks for him in the group. He raises a sickly hand. “Okay,” she says, and makes a tick on the clipboard. “Lily, you’re on deck,” and Lily beams, “and after that… Aumerle Pokewheel…”

           “You’ll do great! Better go now and get it over with,” Lily says, and pushes him toward the purple-haired manager. The girl smiles, purely business, and hushes the group.

           “Please remember to stay quiet while others are auditioning,” she mentions, and then ushers Remus toward the door.

           “Break a leg,” she says, and pushes him through with a call of, “First one in, Flitwick.”

           “Thank you, Andromeda,” someone (presumably Flitwick) calls back, and Remus is blind for a moment in the dark theater. The ground slopes toward the stage, where a single spotlight picks out center. He lopes toward the stairs, feeling clammy.

           “Hello!” The tiny professor from Tuesday waves a merry hand as Remus climbs to the stage and clumsily enters his light.

           “Erm, hello,” Remus says, shielding his eyes. “My name’s Remus Lupin. I’ll, uh, I’ll be doing a piece by Orsino in  _Twelfth Night_.”

           “Ah, excellent,” says Flitwick, and waves another hand for Remus to continue. “Whenever you’re ready!”

           Remus clears his throat and takes a breath. He plants himself, sweating already in the light, and begins.

            _If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it…_

He doesn’t make eye contact with Flitwick, only picks an empty seat. His fists have clenched, and he consciously relaxes them. His heartbeat is sucking all the air from his ribcage like a void, and his mouth is dry.

_O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets…_

Remus forces himself to relax, to listen to what’s coming out of his mouth. Love. It’s pretty. Beautiful, even. His eyes close automatically, and a small smile starts at the corners of his mouth. Lost for a second, Remus actually believes what he says, and it startles him. His eyes open to the empty seat, desperate not to look to Flitwick for approval or disapproval. Another breath, and he’s off again, lost this time for good.

_O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou…_

The words are coming without recall. Remus knows them as thought. He pushes them forward like excited children on a swing-set, back and forth in rhythmic pentameter. His body jitters beneath his skin in a way that should be terrifying. Instead, it feels like crossing the quad in the sun on a spring day. Suddenly, it’s over, and Remus realizes he’s out of monologue. He jerks back to the theater, where Flitwick nods and scribbles in a legal pad.

“Very good. Thank you, Mr. Lupin,” Flitwick says, and then to Andromeda, “Next please!”

Remus suddenly crashes. He feels like a slug, worming off the stage and leaving behind a pool of clammy sweat.  _That’s it?_

“That’s it,” Lily confirms with a wink as they pass. She flashes a double thumbs up, “Good job!”

“Thanks,” Remus mouths, and Andromeda hushes with a slow  _shhh_ , pushing him out towards the bright, light lobby. The squatters and sighers are still en masse. They breathe him out of the lobby and back to campus. Somehow Remus’ legs carry him home, the back way, and he goes about pretending to study and cooking himself some dinner until James, Sirius and Peter return, hours later.

“How’d it go?” he asks, casually resting the warm pot of Easy Mac on his lap and eating straight from it with a serving spoon (it’s his night for dishes, and he’s determined to wash as little as possible.) “And I’m assuming you all went right back to the Hog’s Head, after?”

“Fine, mate,‘s bloody brilliant, there and back again…” Sirius says, falling over Remus’ shoulder and stealing both spoon and macaroni out of his hands. He slurps off the end of the spoon and Remus smells smoke and beer coming from his jacket.

“I think I forgot a line in mine, but I just kept going,” Peter squeaks. He hiccups. “Have they sent the cast list yet, Prongs? Andromeda said it’d be going out tonight.”

James has already returned to his home on the futon and is writhing out of his hoodie like a drunk adder shedding its skin. “Dunno, mate, I’ll check in a second,” he says. “I didn’t see Lily when we were there. Y’think she went? She has to have, yeah? I was gonna ask her back to the bar on our way out.”

Peter’s already toddled back out of his bedroom, cradling his Macbook like an infant. Remus steals back his dinner after Sirius attempts to abduct the pot to the futon. “She might’ve been earlier, Prongs,” Sirius says around a mouthful of hot pasta. “Let’s have a look for the email, eh?”

“I’ve got it!” Peter crows, and they crowd around for a look, Remus dragging his macaroni with them.

The email reads:

_Hi all!_

_Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. You all made it so difficult to choose. If you don’t see your name on this list, it does NOT mean you didn’t do amazing work and you shouldn’t be proud of yourselves. We look forward to seeing you at future auditions very much._

_That being said, the cast list is found below. Ladies and gentlemen, we start rehearsing Wednesday at 6:00 PM, so be on the lookout for more emails from me._

_Your benevolent stage manager,  
Andromeda Black_

**_A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare  
Directed by Filius Flitwick_ **

_Oberon/Theseus – Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Titania/Hippolyta – Cressida Stebbins_

_Lysander – James Potter_

_Hermia – Lily Evans_

_Demetrius – Sirius Black_

_Helena – Marlene McKinnon_

_Puck/Robin Goodfellow – Remus Lupin_

_Peter Quince/Prologue – Frank Longbottom_

_Nick Bottom/Pyramus – Gilderoy Lockhart_

_Francis Flute/Thisbe/Peaseblossom – Dorcas Meadowes_

_Robin Starveling/Moonshine/Cobweb – Alice Proudfoot_

_Egeus/Tom Snout/Wall/Moth – Peter Pettigrew_

_Snug/Lion/Mustardseed – Mary MacDonald_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...and now we’ll be discussing techniques to determine appropriate curriculum…”
> 
> Remus looks to Lily, who looks to Remus, who looks to Lily. There are less than a child’s-handful of students left in the quickly-emptying amphitheatre; Dr. Binns seems to have forgotten that class is over at 5:30.
> 
> Lily nods once, decisively, then slowly and carefully slips on her backpack and stands. Remus checks his watch (5:42), slides his notes into his messenger bag, and follows suit. Together, they seep toward the back of the classroom. Binns drones on.
> 
> Blessed, the door doesn’t creak on the way out.

“...and now we’ll be discussing techniques to determine appropriate curriculum…”

Remus looks to Lily, who looks to Remus, who looks to Lily. There are less than a child’s-handful of students left in the quickly-emptying amphitheatre; Dr. Binns seems to have forgotten that class is over at 5:30.

Lily nods once, decisively, then slowly and carefully slips on her backpack and stands. Remus checks his watch (5:42), slides his notes into his messenger bag, and follows suit. Together, they seep toward the back of the classroom. Binns drones on.

Blessed, the door doesn’t creak on the way out.

Remus sighs explosively. Lily folds in half, laughing until her breath is gone.

“Do you think he even noticed?” she says, wiping away tears.

“He does this every week,” Remus says, kneading from his jaw to his temple with the heel of his hand, remembering with a tremble of nerves that he’d wanted to shave this morning before-

“Heading to rehearsal right now?” Lily grins. Remus nods, hoping he hasn’t come across like a gulping fish. Lily smiles in earnest and squeezes his arm. “Don’t be nervous,” she says, “Flitwick wouldn’t have cast you if he didn’t see something he really liked.” Remus follows her out of the building, fumbling surreptitiously with the script in his bag, thumbing along the spine to reassure himself that both he and it still exist.

They make their way to the rehearsal room across campus, where Andromeda meets them at the door.

“Evening, have a seat, we’re starting shortly,” she says, with the weary rehearsedness of someone who’s already been working for hours and will likely still be working after everyone else leaves. One long table has been pulled to the center of the room, with Flitwick armed with his script at the head. A few of the cast members are scattered on odd sides. Surprisingly, James and Sirius are already here; Sirius, chatting idly with Kingsley Shacklebolt, to his left, and James across, who snaps to attention when he realizes Lily has walked through the door. He says nothing, but the aura of hopefulness burning from him and spilling onto the invitingly empty seat next to him practically melts Remus’ eyebrows off. Lily summarily ignores him and purposefully dumps her belongings in the seat next to Flitwick. James wilts, glowering at Remus.

Remus takes the seat next to Sirius, who murmurs “Alright there, Moons? Binns keep you hostage again?”

“Every time,” Remus moans, surprised that Sirius remembered his schedule. Rummaging, Sirius pulls a small, misshapen package out of his backpack.

“Here,” he hands it to Remus, “figured you wouldn’t have time to get home in between, and no one in their right mind would brave the dining hall,” and Remus unwraps a moderately well-constructed peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Touched as he is, he figures the best way to show Sirius his thanks is by wolfing the gift as fast as he can.

“F’anks,” says Remus, around a mouthful of peanut butter. Sirius smiles tightly.

The table has filled by now. Remus surmises that the blonde-coiffed boy to his right must be a freshman, as his ID (bearing the name  _ Gilderoy Lockhart _ ) still hangs from the standard issue lanyard around his neck. Across from Sirius, a group of girls has taken up residence by dragging their chairs into a circle and whispering conspiratorially together.

“Alright, everyone, it’s six, so let’s get going,” Andromeda says crisply, taking her seat opposite Lily, next to Flitwick.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone, I’m so glad to see you all!” squeaks Flitwick, snapping his script shut for effect. “I believe this show is going to be simply magnificent! That is,” he says, “as long as we all work hard and dedicate ourselves.” Remus watches Andromeda scribbling madly in her notebook and wonders what about those two sentences could possibly have been so earth-shatteringly important. “For tonight,” Flitwick continues, “we’re simply going to read through, and I might dismiss everyone to do some table work with our Lovers, but to begin with, why don’t we all make sure everyone’s acquainted with each other? Some introductions?”

The group knows better than to groan collectively aloud, but Remus feels nearly everyone shift in unison.

Lily goes first, announcing her name and Education major with a shake of her copper hair. She’s followed by Frank Longbottom, a square-faced, serious biology student that Remus seems to remember from freshman orientation. The table follow suit, Remus managing not to forget his name or major when his turn comes, and finally arriving at…

“Peter Pettigrew!” squeaks Peter, bursting in late, to a cluck of disapproval from Andromeda. “Sorry, sorry, class was late…”

Remus feels Sirius’ chuckle at the juncture where their sleeves touch.

“Excellent, excellent,” Flitwick says, “and now on to the really exciting stuff! Andie, would you read stage directions, thank you.”

Andromeda complies, opening her script and intoning, “Scene one, Athens, the palace of Theseus.”

The rumbling and melodic voices of Kingsley and Cressida intertwine, as Theseus and Hippolyta discuss their upcoming wedding. Remus furtively licks a minuscule gob of jelly off the side of his hand.

For the most part, he keeps his nose buried in his script, listening contentedly as voices pop up from various sections of the table and color the room. Lily is, of course, already familiar with the archaic language,  _ ere _ ’s and - _ eth _ ’s falling from her tongue like magic. Remus is pleasantly surprised to hear a wash of tenderness from James, as Lysander comments on the smoothness of the course of love, though Remus chalks that tenderness up to James not having the foggiest idea what the word “avouch” means, and treading carefully over the lines.

The Mechanicals come next, with the blonde freshman Lockhart drawing an impressive number of laughs with his Bottom, and Thisbe, and lion’s roar. Then Peter’s up, with a wink to Remus, who nearly swallows his own Adam’s apple  _ oh God oh God we’re next. _

He feels himself speaking, and Peter’s certainly answering, so he can’t have misstepped too far yet. Peter’s fairy asks if he is that knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow, which is definitely Remus, and Puck answers, with Remus trying to wring as much mischief out of his voice as he can muster.

“Nicely done, Moony,” Sirius whispers, once the pages have flipped and Kingsley and Cressida are up again, “although I’d be happy to give you some knavery lessons in the future. God knows you need them.”

“Hush,” smiles Remus, interjecting his acquiescence to Kingsley’s Oberon where appropriate.

The read continues, through the Lovers crossing again and again in the wood, through the Fairy songs, and through the Mechanicals’ bumbling rehearsals. Every so often, Andromeda inserts a stage direction into the ebb and flow of voices, her brisk manner like an accentuating symbol crash in an orchestral movement. Remus plays his own part, anointing the Lovers and Titania with the magical flower that causes love at first sight, and finds the more and more he speaks, the less he wants to projectile vomit. He even, to his slight concern, finds himself having fun.

On Remus’ left, Sirius casually flips the page and enters a scene, with Demetrius having awakened in love with Marlene’s Helena. Remus feels anticipatory bristling, something about Sirius shifts, and he begins:

“O! Helena! Goddess, nymph, divine!”

Remus stomach flips. Sirius’ voice bleeds sincerity as he continues, comparing Helena’s lips to cherries in snow, and he keeps locking Marlene in a lovestruck gaze over the edge of his script book. Sirius even slides his hand across the table to take Marlene’s, begging  _ O, let me kiss this princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! _ , and Remus swears he can feel the back of his own hand burning.

The scene continues, but Remus’ place is lost. He watches James and Sirius bash heads as Demetrius and Lysander, wondering if this is the first time the two have ever fought, and tries to ignore the moth flutters in his chest when Sirius’ dark hair tumbles into his face as he feigns rage.

The Lovers quarrel, the Fairies meddle, and the Mechanicals perform throughout the rest of the read. It feels like years and only seconds since they’ve started, so Remus isn’t sure what time it is when Andromeda finally calls for a stop. 

“Alright, everyone, that’s the end! Lovers, you can take a ten. Everyone else, great work, we’ll see you tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

Remus flashes James and Sirius a quick thumbs up before his legs carry him home. He is briefly aware of Peter beside him, twirling his keys around and occasionally whapping himself with them while he chatters. 

Peter and Remus hold down the fort as well as they can, but it’s nearly ten by the time James and Sirius come through the door. Remus, showered, shirtless, and exhausted, watches as they both collapse unceremoniously, Sirius to the futon, James to the floor.

“Went well?” says Peter sarcastically from the kitchen. James and Sirius moan pitifully into the cushions and carpet.

James rolls over, a plank, eyes wide and vacant. “D’you… d’you think he’ll actually make me kiss Evans?” he says, voice trembling.

Remus is bewildered. “Is that not what you want?” he treads, carefully. “You haven’t shut up about wanting to snog her since freshman year.”

“Well, yeah, but. Never reckoned I’d actually get the opportunity,” James says, looking queasier by the millisecond.

“S’pose if you do, that means I’m snogging Marlene,” says Sirius thoughtfully. Remus allows the image of Sirius and Marlene kissing to float through his mind for one brief instant before boxing it up and stacking several other, less unpleasant concepts on top.

  
_No kisses for plain old Puck,_ Remus thinks, _I really should shave,_ glancing to Sirius, and then, oddly, _the course of true love never did run smooth._


End file.
